Journey
by keepcalmandshiptiva94
Summary: Bringing her home from Somalia alive is only half of the journey. Ziva centric, T/Z, post Somalia.
1. Chapter 1

**As an NCIS fan, I've always thought that Somalia was swept under a rug too easily. Therefore, as many authors have, I'm writing a post-Somalia story. While it will be Ziva-centric, it is also T/Z, promise. In this story, Truth or Consequences happened. Reunion did not. **

* * *

_"Comfortable?" Saleem's voice is as rough as the air around them, thick with sand and dust. The heat is smoldering, bearing down on every living thing within hundreds of miles with little to no hope of replenishment or escape. There is little hope of anything, really. The entirety of the Sahara Desert is a vast expanse of misery and desperation to those who find themselves there. Unless an individual is well equipped or knows what he or she is doing, the best hope that person can have is that something else gets them before the heat does._

_And even that hope is nearly pointless. _

_Ziva David glares through the dirty air at the man who has spoken to her, Saleem. He is smirking at her, his question more of a tease than anything else. He doesn't care if she's comfortable. He wants her to suffer. It's the entire reason that she's there. _

_Well, not entirely, but those details are fuzzy now. _

_Saleem laughs a throaty chuckle, and Ziva fights back a wince at the sound, so guttural and repulsive. There's a knife in his hands and he's turning it over and over in his palms. He stops for a moment and looks at her as if she isn't worth the ground she's sitting on. He's thinking, which concerns her just a little. His lips twitch slightly as if he's fighting a smile, and then he continues his previous actions as he walks back and forth in front of her, his pace slow. _

_"Tell me something, Ziva. Are your friends going to find you here?" He walks over to a shelf on the wall and picks up a piece of steel, running the edges of the knife across it, sharpening the blade. _

_Her breath catches and she prays that it went undetected. Her friends? She sees all of their faces in flashes, laughing and smiling. Then she sees Gibbs just before he got on the plane to leave her, his expression so somber. She remembers just being able to hear Tony over the roar of the plane engine asking if they're missing one. At the time, she hadn't cared. She had turned her back on them and walked away. They had betrayed her, after all. Especially Tony._

_Now, things are different. After spending a very long two weeks in a camp in the middle of nowhere, she is leaning more toward the idea that she had been the one to betray them instead. She wonders what they told Abby and the rest of the team when they returned. She is sure that they were made aware of what had happened, and if they didn't hate her then, they've surely moved on by now. _

_Saleem raises an eyebrow, waiting on her answer. She takes only a moment to make sure she can keep her voice steady, and then she speaks. "No." _

_"No?" Saleem seems surprised. "Why would that be, Ziva? You were their little pet for quite some time, were you not?" _

_She swallows the profanities she wants to scream at him, though it isn't easy. A man standing in the corner laughs, and Ziva recognizes him. He's the one that had liked touching her face and neck, running his filthy fingers along her skin over and over. He's the one who had made promises of seeing her as often as he'd like to and whenever he wanted. It makes Ziva's skin crawl to remember the gravely tone in his voice when he'd let his hand dip a little lower on her neck and told her to be a "good girl". The memory causes her to feel sick, and she forces it away, focusing back on Saleem, who is watching her, waiting for her to answer his question._

_When she doesn't do so, he shrugs nonchalantly. "What makes you so sure they will not find you, Ziva? Do you not think they can?" _

_She fights the rush of sadness that envelopes her in vain. She can still see Tony's face vividly, so angry at the idea that she didn't trust him, so upset that she would think his motives weren't favorable. She had accused him of terrible things and called him every bad name in the book. She was wrong about all of it, but it's much too late for apologies and reconciliation. _

_"They are probably not even looking," she tells him after a moment, hating that her voice cracks a little. She knows Saleem caught it because his expresses flickers just the slightest. _

_"Hm." He takes a moment to process that information. He turns to the man in the corner, who is grinning with raised eyebrows. "That is a shame, don't you think?" _

"Ziva." Ziva jumps at the sound of her name, a gasp falling past her lips. She looks up to see that Tony is sitting a foot or two away from her as opposed to on the other side of the plane. She blinks a few times, regaining her bearings and focusing on him. Her heart is beating quick enough for it to hurt, but she ignores it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Gibbs told me to ask if you wanted another bottle of water or anything."

_"Gibbs told me to ask" _echoes in her mind, and she wonders if Tony is going through Gibbs for a specific reason. She lets her eyes travel to Gibbs, sitting across from her on the plane. His face is careful, and she realizes that both he and Tony are wearing similar expressions. They aren't sure what she'll do or how she'll react to anything. They don't know anything about what she went through or how she feels, so they're being careful.

It takes her a full twenty seconds to process his request through the numbness of her mind. She registers the fact that her body is still somewhat in shock at the day's sudden turn in events. When she finally thinks through the fog in her brain, she looks back at Tony and shakes her head.

"I am... fine," she says slowly, looking down at her lap. She thinks he'll just walk away, and she honestly wants him to, because the alternative would be talking about things that she would rather stay not discussed, at least for the moment.

"Ziva-"

"I said I am fine." She snaps, interrupting him before he can say another word. She looks up at him, her heart rate quickening again. Hurt flashes to his features, and he does little to cover it. She immediately feels guilty, but she can't get anything else past her lips. He nods once, standing and heading back over to the other side of the plane. When he sits down, he says something to Gibbs, but she doesn't hear what it is.

Gibbs is talking to him then, their whispers too low for her to make out, but suddenly Tony is playing with his fingers, looking down at his lap. Guilt settles in more deeply as she watches the scene, knowing that the hurt on Tony's face is her fault. He was just trying to help and she'd hurt his feelings.

She had been wrong in her assumptions at the camp, apparently. The team had found her, rescued her, and now they were on their way back to America. What really amazes her is that they didn't expect to find her. They had expected to simply avenge her.

_"Couldn't live without you, I guess." _

The statement still breaks her heart. She had kicked him, pointed a gun at him, and given him every reason in the world to despise her, but he'd still went to hell and back for her, knowing just as well as she had that the mission was suicide. She looks at him from where she sits, knowing that she didn't deserve that. Not after everything that had happened.

No longer able to stomach the look on his face combined with the guilt eating at her, she looks down at her lap again. A mark in between her thumb and first finger catches her eye, and she lets her other thumb brush across it.

_"Do you think my knife is sharp enough, Ziva?" _

_Saleem holds it out a little in her direction, allowing her to see the edges. The metal shines in the light coming in through the window from somewhere and she squints at it, but her mouth stays shut. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction._

_Saleem tilts his head curiously at her, his eyes darkened by what Ziva assumes to be the hatred he's given and received. "Ziva," he begins, leveling his eyes at her. "I asked you a question." _

_She considers continuing her silence, but one look at the man in the corner changes her mind. "Yes, it looks very sharp," she tells him through gritted teeth. She's trying as hard as she can to keep some level of fight in her, but she's losing it fast and she has no idea how long she'll be here or how much longer she'll be alive. _

_Saleem nods, and for a moment, she thinks he has accepted her words and that he'll move on. He turns on his heel and takes a few steps away, only to turn once again and walk back, standing right in front of her. "You see, Ziva, it isn't that I do not believe you, but I would like to make absolutely sure. It is very important that this knife be in perfect condition." _

_She sees it coming and braces herself, but she still winces when he presses the knife to the skin on her hand. It slices deep without applying much pressure and blood starts seeping out of the wound. Saleem watches for a moment, and then smiles. "Well, it seems you were correct, Ziva. The knife is very sharp. That is good to know." _

_He laughs a little, and she wants nothing more than to snatch the knife from his hand and stab him in the throat with it. She's weak, however, and she knows that even if she could get out of being bound, it wouldn't do her any good. Even without being underfed for two weeks, even if she managed to get past all the men in the camp, she would never make it out. There was too much desert. _

_She glares at him as he nods to the man in the corner and they walk out together, leaving her. A glance out the window to the west tells her that the sun is close to setting, and it'll be dark soon. _

_Dark is better, because the heat isn't really a factor. Dark is also worse, because she has more time to think in the loneliness of the tiny room she's being kept in._

_Dark is worse, too, because every time she closes her eyes in an attempt to sleep, she sees them. Every time she sees them, she hates herself just a little bit more. _

The warm welcome the four of them receive when they walk in is unexpected, as is Abby's hug. Ziva doesn't expect to be welcomed back at all.

Of course, she didn't expect any of this.

She can feel Tony's eyes on her, but she can't find it in her to look at him through the guilt threatening to crush her, so she glances off to the side, trying to ignore the intensity of his stare as it burns into the skin of her cheek.

She has questions to answer, but thankfully, they don't ask what specifically happened to her. Of the things she doesn't want to talk about, those details are at the top of the list. When it comes time for everyone to go home, an awkward silence passes before Gibbs offers to let her stay with him until she finds another place to live.

Right before she leaves to follow Gibbs out of the door, Tony looks at her and tells her to "take care". The expression on his face is so defeated that she almost pulls him to her and hugs him. She feels like she should thank him, tell him that she doesn't resent him anymore. But when it comes down to it, her mouth won't move and Gibbs is waiting, so she just walks away.

She and Gibbs both stay silent throughout the drive, and when she walks through his door and the first thing he does is hand her clothes, she isn't sure what to say. "They'll be big, but they'll do for tonight," he tells her simply, and she nods, accepting the clothes nearly mechanically.

He starts to walk away, and it's then that she finds her voice. "T-thank you."

Gibbs stops and turns back to her. His gaze is soft and it takes her by surprise. He looks at her for a moment, and then nods. "Go change. I'll go get some blankets put on the couch for you."

She does as he says, and even though the clothes are way too big, a few rolls of the shorts and tying the shirt with a rubber band makes it manageable. Anything is better than what she had on, and she couldn't imagine complaining anyway.

She's sitting on the couch staring at the wall when Gibbs comes back, two blankets and a pillow in his arms. He hands them to her and then stands there, looking her over. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, and she can see that his concern is genuine. She follows his eyes to her leg, where a barely healed cut peeks out from beneath the shorts she's wearing.

That has been another test of Saleem's knife. She has those scars everywhere. A few on her arms, two on each of her legs, three on her shoulders, a few on her back, a couple on her stomach, and one just behind her ear, under her hairline. She looks back up at Gibbs, and he's still looking, trying to find more. She knows that if he looks too hard, he'll see them, so she takes the blanket and lies down, covering up with it.

She considers staying silent and not answering his question in hopes that he'll drop it and leave, but after a few seconds of deliberation, she speaks softly. "I am fine."

Gibbs accepts her answer, surprisingly enough, but he's never been one to push. She pulls the cover closer around her and tries to get comfortable despite the protests her body puts up. She's stiff and she's finding new spots that are sore nearly every time she moves. When she finally settles in, she closes her eyes and tries to relax.

Now, instead of seeing the faces of her team that she betrayed, she sees the faces of the men in the camp. The ones that overpowered her, the ones that hurt her, the ones that violated her.

She's home, in a manner of speaking. Most of those men are dead. She should, by all purposes, be "fine".

Except she isn't.

Those scars only begin to cover the brutality of what she experienced, the pain she endured, the suffering she went through. There's more cuts, burns, and bruises that are hidden. Even worse, there's hurt and pain that isn't physical at all, so much worse than any damage a sharpened knife could do.

She doesn't even get through two hours of the first night before the nightmares start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Just a heads up- none of the flashbacks will be in order or anything. But most will have some reference to how long she's been in the camp or something. **

* * *

_"Such a beautiful woman," the man walking around her says in a voice that tops any sound nails on a chalkboard could make. Ziva cringes at the way he speaks to her, trying not to meet the dark eyes that are practically undressing her. He is assessing her thoroughly, looking her up and down in a way that makes her skin crawl. "When you were..." A small chuckle escapes him. "Before you got here, did you work out a lot?" _

_She lowers her chin just a fraction so that she doesn't have to meet his stare, narrowing her eyes at the ground. His hand finds her hair and tugs, making her look up at him, trying to force an answer out of her. "I do not understand why it matters. I am sure I am not being held here to tell you my daily routine," she nearly spits, glaring despite her eye still being a little swollen. _

_The man lets go of her hair and resumes walking around her. "That is the thing, Ziva." He's standing behind her when he puts both of his hands on her shoulders, letting his filthy palms run down her arms. She bites down hard on her bottom so that she doesn't make even a sound in response. "You have only been here for two days. All that you know is that we are searching for information about your agency over in America. How do you know we are not also interested in you? You are a very interesting person, after all. I have heard so much about you." _

_She swallows, fighting back a shiver as his hands travel back up her arms and around to her chest. She blinks back the tears that want to fall, forcing herself to be as tough as possible. _

_"Hm," he hums to himself, his hands still touching her. She struggles against the ropes around her wrists, but they don't budge. His fingers are trailing her skin and she feels tears stinging her eyes again. She squeezes her eyes shut, praying that maybe if she shuts them tight enough, it'll be over soon. _

Ziva sits straight up from where she is on the couch, barely keeping herself from falling off of it, a small cry falling past her lips when her body protests the sudden movement. She inhales in deep gasps, feeling as if she's been holding her breath for hours. Her dampened hands are shaking and cold sweats have broken out all over her body. Her hair is sticking to the sides of her face and she tries to push it back the best she can. She puts her head in her hands, trying to will the images away. A chill raises goose bumps on her skin where his hands had touched and she runs her own hands over the area, trying to rid herself of the feeling. Tears start slipping down her cheeks and she attempts to wipe them away, but more keep falling. She covers her mouth with her hand, but a sob escapes past her lips anyway. Looking up at the roof, she tries to breathe evenly before she wakes Gibbs. It takes a few minutes despite her best efforts, but finally, air is entering and exiting her lungs at a normal pace and her heart rate has slowed. She stands, her legs shaking a little under her weight. She has to wait a moment before they'll cooperate enough to get her down the hall and to the bathroom. More pain shoots through her as she walks and she winces, pressing her lips together to try to keep from making too much noise.

The light in the bathroom is brighter than she was expecting, and she squints at her reflection in the mirror. She doesn't really recognize the person staring back at her. Shaking off the nervous feeling running through her body, she runs some water over her arms and pats her face down before wiping away the moisture with a towel. A few more tears fall, and she doesn't reach up to wipe these away.

Sighing, she puts her hands on the edge of the sink and lets her head hang for a moment. A few deep breaths later, she finally feels a bit of the edginess fall away. The air conditioning cuts on and it startles her, but then cool air is blowing around her, which feels amazing. She stands up straight again, rubbing her hands over her face and neck. She flips the light switch and turns to walk out the door only to run right into Gibbs, which causes her to jump.

"Ziva." He says her name and his hand finds her wrist. She automatically snatches it from his grasp and pulls it to her chest. Through the light coming from somewhere down the hall, she just can make out his silhouette. He raises his hands as if in surrender and takes a small step back.

"Uh, I am... sorry. I did not mean to wake you up." Her crosses her arms over her chest, her hands gripping her elbows. She opens her mouth to add to her statement, but she can't think of anything once she does, so she closes it again and waits for him to say something.

"You okay?" Gibbs asks, and she just can see his eyebrows furrow.

She blinks, still reeling a little from the sudden shock of running into him when he hadn't made a sound and she hadn't seen or heard him walk up. "Uh, I... I am f-fine," she stammers, suddenly grateful for the darkness. Gibbs is looking at her curiously, and she knows that he's still looking for more wounds and scars. She makes a note to be careful what she wears around him for a while.

If she's around much longer.

She can't stay there forever, but she isn't sure what she should do. She has very little resources and she doesn't have a job to go back to. She has to get out eventually, but she doesn't know how she's going to do that.

She pauses, takes a deep breath or two, and then walks slowly around him into the living room. He doesn't follow her so she just lies down on the couch, covering up with the blanket and pulling it as tight around her as she can. The blanket is warm, but no matter how much she tries to snuggle into it, she can't feel anything but cold.

The next day, she goes and gets what little money she has left in her savings from what seems to be a lifetime ago, using it to pay for two months worth of rent in a little apartment on the western side of the city. Then, she drops back by to leave a quick note with Gibbs. She keeps the message simple, saying "Thanks for letting me stay here for a night. I found a place to rent that I can afford with what I have right now. -Ziva", and leaving the little slip of paper where she knows he'll find it when he returns home.

She stops at the store on the way back to get a few essentials, but she feels anxious the entire time she's there, and the trip winds up being cut short because she can't shake the feeling. So, with very little in the bags she's carrying, she heads back to the complex she rented from.

The apartment isn't very big. There are two bedrooms and one bathroom, and everything else is relatively plain, but it works for her, for now.

After putting up the few things she bought, she sits down on the couch, one of five pieces of furniture in the small living room. The other things include a television sitting in the corner, one recliner, one shelf, and a small table in the center of the room. As she sits down, she rubs one of her more recent cuts on her back and winces, sitting up so that her back isn't touching the couch.

Her cell phone ringing startles her, and she has to take a moment to recover before she answers. She had gotten another phone with the same number, but she hadn't really expected anyone to call her on it. "H-hello?"

"Ziva? Left already?" It's Gibbs, and Ziva sighs, standing and walking into the kitchen. It's a little dirty, and she knows she'll have to clean it before too long or she won't be able to stand it.

"How did you know I got my phone turned back on?" she asks instead of answering his question.

"Lucky guess," he says smoothly. "You didn't answer the question."

"Yes, I found somewhere to rent," she tells him in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah, I got that," he says, and she can hear the frown in his voice. "You didn't have to be in a hurry."

She takes a moment to answer, her heart tugging painfully in her chest. "I did not want to be a bother."

The truth behind her statement hits her a little hard, and she has to take a steadying breath to calm herself down. Tears sting her eyes and she blinks them away, rubbing a hand over her face. The hand holding the phone starts shaking a little, and she switches hands quickly, feeling ridiculous.

"You weren't," Gibbs replies, and Ziva isn't sure what to say. It's a sweet gesture, one she doesn't feel worthy of, and for a moment, she's rendered speechless. Her free hand comes up to grip the bottom of her shirt, fisting it and tugging a little, the fabric soft against her palm and fingers.

"Look, Gibbs," she begins, her fist tightening. She's wrinkling the shirt, but she can't find it in her to loosen her grip. "I appreciate your concern, but I will be fine."

She waits only a moment for him to respond, and when he doesn't, she decides she doesn't want to hear anything he has to think about before he speaks, so she hangs up. She sighs at the scrunched up material on one area of her shirt before snatching it off and tossing it on the washing machine in the corner. She tugs a little on the tank top she was wearing underneath, trying to cover the small span of skin it reveals.

Glancing around her, everything seems too dim, so she flips a light switch and watches as the room immediately brightens, throwing light into the darkened corners. She stands there for a few moments, assessing the room around her and trying to figure out if she can do anything at the current time to make it seem more like a home.

She knows that the efforts she puts in are hopeless. No matter what she does, she's still going to look around the apartment every night and feel alone.

It takes her two days to come to the realization that she needs a job desperately if she's going to get by, and she knows that going back to NCIS as a liaison isn't an option. The only thing she has going for her is the fact that her Visa is still good for a little while. It'll give her enough time to figure out what she's supposed to do when it expires.

She doesn't want to leave here, so she assumes that when the time comes, she can go through the process of becoming a citizen, but the possibility isn't something she can grasp at the moment. For now, she just needs to focus on getting through every day, one day at the time.

She finds a small diner down the street that's hiring, and within ten minutes of arriving, she's offered a job working the late evening shift six days a week. She accepts and says she'll start the next night, even though the idea of working that late terrifies her just a little.

As she goes to exit the diner, a group of men sitting at a table near the door start laughing, and her heart jumps in her chest.

_"You are quite funny, Anshel." Saleem's voice carries through the walls of the building, and Ziva cringes. He sounds drunk, which doesn't exactly give her a reassuring feeling. "Please tell us another one of your jokes." _

_She doesn't hear what the man in question is saying, but soon the entire room next to her is erupting with laughter and banging on tables. They've been talking and laughing for the past hour. They're all drinking, she figures, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. The stone is cool against her head, and she sighs in exhaustion. The sinking emptiness in her stomach flares up, and she pulls her knees in and wraps her arms around herself, wincing. _

_The men burst out laughing again and her hate for them ticks up a notch. She's not sure how much more hate she can accumulate before it drives her insane. _

_Their laughter dies down, and then she hears their footsteps. Her chin starts trembling and moisture stings her eyes, because she knows they'll be walking in the door in front of her any second. She takes a deep breath and puts on the best brave face she can, waiting for them to come through the door with those lopsided grins on their dirty, unshaven faces. _

_She hears them talking just outside and she swallows, pressing close to the wall in hopes that it'll absorb her or some other miracle will occur. But they enter anyway, and one of the biggest ones smiles crookedly at her. _

_"Well, well, what have we got here?" _

"Miss?" Someone touches her shoulder, and she's back at the diner. She gasps, twitching away from the hand that's touching her shoulder. "Sorry. You're standing in the doorway."

Ziva stares open mouthed at the woman in front of her for a moment before she can move, taking a few steps to get outside. Standing still and trying to relax, she closes her eyes and takes the most even breaths she can manage. She presses a hand to her forehead, but then puts it back down because her hands are damp. She rubs them on the pants she's wearing, looking around to see if anyone is watching her. There's an older man looking at her, and his gaze is concerned. Wanting to make him stop staring at her, she tries her best to give him a smile, but the motion feels awkward and she knows it isn't convincing.

She gets back to her apartment in a daze almost, trying to sort through the jumble of her thoughts. A young girl on her hall asks her if she's okay, and she feels her head nod as her lips say "I'm fine".

She hasn't even been back in America a week and she's already tired of saying the phrase.

_They leave when they're all finished, and Ziva lets the tears fall freely when the door closes. She barely hears one of the guards ask when they're going to try to get more information out of her, and Saleem simply tells the man that they'll keep trying. He says that you can only push someone so far until they break. _

_Ziva swallows and chokes out a sob, because she knows that they will most certainly keep pushing her. A month ago, she would have thought that the possibility of her breaking was ridiculous. Now, however, she isn't so sure._

_"She'll be fun while she's around," another one of them says after a moment, and she curls up even tighter, feeling more lost than she ever has. _

_It's only been a little over a month, and her hate for all of them has reached its maximum. Now, she's slowly starting to hate herself, too. _


	3. Chapter 3

Tony had gotten accustomed to the feeling that staring at Ziva's desk gave him when he thought he would never see her again. It had only reminded him repeatedly of the hole that losing her had left. In a way, though, it's nothing compared to the feeling of staring at her desk knowing she's alive. It's a different ache, and it isn't quite as sharp as the previous, but it still hurts like hell. He wishes she was there, sitting across from him with her hair down and that smile on her face that he misses more than words can say. He wishes he could go back four months and do everything over differently so that he never would have spent a single day looking at someone else sitting in her desk. But most of all, he wishes that he could just snap his fingers and make everything okay between them again, because he misses her just as much now as he did when he thought she was dead.

He keeps seeing her face in his mind, so broken, so blank. In the four months that he didn't see her, she'd lost part of herself. He's never seen her like that before and he isn't sure how to deal with it. He wants to find her and fix her, make her better than she was before they left her in Israel, but the idea feels impossible. Someone else could give it a try, but he knows that his attempts would most likely be worthless.

He can't help her if she's still upset with him. And even if she's grateful to him for being a part of what saved her, there's still a rough patch that they have to get through if they ever want to get back to where they were. Maybe they'll never get there, but it hurts him too much to think like that. He has to keep some hope that they'll be okay one day or he'll fall into a depression that even the best medicine and shrinks won't be able to get him out of.

He had hoped that they would be able to fix what was broken between them when she got back. He had planned an entire speech of things he wanted to tell her as soon as they had all returned safe and sound. He'd wanted to put back together the shattered pieces of their relationship so that they would be alright again. Even after how short she was with him on the plane, he'd hoped to talk to her, but then seeing her avoid his eyes so strongly once they were back made him think twice. He figures she doesn't really want to talk to him. And if she doesn't talk to him, they'll stay exactly where they are.

Of course, he can't really blame her.

Sighing, he puts his head in his hands, hating the way this feels. He just wants his Ziva back, the one that rolled her eyes at his movies references, made smart remarks toward him every chance she got, and gave him looks that drove him crazy. He has to keep himself in check, though, because for now, it should be enough that she's alive and safe for the first time since May. For now, that will have to get him through.

He wants to go find her, eventually, and try to talk to her again. Part of him wonders if she'll come to him if he gives her enough time, but he highly doubts it. Should he try to talk to her again soon? Or should it be something that just happens, like half of the things in their relationship? He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

He really hates this.

"Tony? You okay?" It's McGee's voice that makes him lift his head, and he gives the agent a small half smile. He knows the attempt is awful when McGee gives him a skeptical look.

"All things considered, sure, Probie," he says anyway, rubbing his hands over his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh. His voice is more bitter than he intended, but he can't find it in him to offer up an apology of any kind. McGee should know he doesn't truly mean to snap. "All things considered."

"Have you... talked to Ziva?" McGee asks almost too conversationally, sitting down at his desk and starting up his computer. It amazes Tony that the topic can be breached so casually, as if they're discussing the weather or some sports event that occurred the weekend before.

"Uh, no. I tried, once, on the plane, and she... didn't exactly respond well. She... She snapped at me." Tony winces a little at the sharp hurt associated with the memory. Her eyes had been just as dead as her voice and it had terrified him. "I thought you saw that," he accuses, but there's barely any force behind it.

"Well, I saw it, but I wasn't sure if you had talked to her after that. And things were still pretty tense for her then. It's been two days now. Maybe she's feeling better and you can try again." McGee gives him a small shrug. Tony is aware that McGee is only trying to help, but his words are irritating him for reasons he can't explain.

"Thanks for the advice," Tony retorts, shooting McGee a glare. "But honestly, I'm not looking for it at the moment."

"Tony, I'm just saying-"

"I know, McGee," Tony interrupts, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Snapping at McGee doesn't help him any, but it's hard to fight the burst of anger running through his veins. He wants to blurt out that he's only human and can only take so much. He wants to tell McGee to give him some slack because he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do about anything at the moment. Instead, he opens his eyes and gives McGee the most honest answer he can conjure up. "But... I don't know what to say. I... hurt her, and I don't know if she'll ever really forgive me."

"You just put together an entire mission to avenge her death and brought her home. Do you really think she can still hate you after that?" McGee questions, raising an eyebrow.

Tony pauses and takes a deep breath, wishing that it could be that easy. "I don't know. I hope not... not forever." His heart pulls uncomfortably at the thought of their issues never being resolved and he looks away from McGee's stare in order to compose himself.

There's another pause in conversation, and Tony stares at his computer screen blankly, trying to come up with another avenue of conversation. Finally, McGee clears his throat quietly. "I'm... I'm really sorry, Tony."

Tony swallows even though it does nothing for the knot forming in his throat. Any response he can think of dies on his lips, so he looks back at McGee and shrugs a little. Gibbs walks in then, and some of the tension lifts when they fall into their usual work routine.

But no matter how hard he throws himself into his job, he can't help but pray that he could just disappear.

"Hey, Gibbs, I had a quick question." Tony tries to keep his voice steady despite the fear constricting his chest. The two of them are alone in the squad room after lunch, McGee not back yet, and the curiosity is eating at Tony far past the realm of what he can handle. He doesn't want to know much, but he _has_ to know something. Gibbs nods, and Tony takes a breath. "I wanted to know how Ziva's doing."

To his surprise, Gibbs shrugs. "Don't really know."

"What?" Tony's eyebrows come together in confusion. "But she's-"

"She only stayed one night. She found an apartment somewhere to rent," Gibbs tells him as he's sitting back down at his desk with his coffee.

"You didn't ask where?" Tony asks incredulously, trying not to be angry with the man seated across the room from him.

"Didn't get the chance," Gibbs says, fixing him with his gaze. "She acted like she wasn't really wanting to talk, and I didn't push it, DiNozzo. You want to know how she is, go find her."

He can't help his next question. "Do you think I should?"

It stops Gibbs for a moment, which scares Tony enough for his breath to catch in his throat. "I don't know, DiNozzo," Gibbs finally replies, his expression sympathetic now. "I think she might need some time."

Tony nods and looks down at his desk, playing with his fingers. "How was she... when she was with you?" He sees Gibbs sigh just a little, his expression shifting with an internal battle. "I need to know," Tony adds in a desperate attempt at information.

"She was... rough, DiNozzo. She went through a lot." Gibbs shrugs as if that's the end of the conversation, but Tony can't help himself.

"Is that all?" he inquires, lifting his eyes just enough to see Gibbs's face.

He sees Gibbs put on a perfectly stoic expression and he has the feeling that he's about to be lied to. "That's all I know for sure."

It isn't exactly a lie, but Tony is very aware that Gibbs has drawn his own conclusions that he isn't sharing. It's the itching curiosity that spawns from that knowledge that makes him do some digging and find out where she is. That night, around six o'clock, he stands in front of her apartment door for nearly ten minutes before finally getting the courage to knock. He hears something that sounds like a glass breaking, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting and trying not to freak out.

He stands there for a few minutes, and he's contemplating either knocking again or walking away when the lock on the door clicks unlocked. She opens the door slowly, almost as if she's afraid of what she's going to find on the other side. He gives her his best attempt at a smile when she sees him, and she hesitates before opening the door just a little wider. She looks rough, he realizes with a start. There are bags under her eyes and her hair is pulled up behind her head messily. She hasn't slept well, he gathers, assessing her to try and figure out anything else he can. He sees the faint outline of a scar sticking out from underneath her shirt and it breaks his heart. When he tries to speak, he stumbles over his words.

"Gibbs... Gibbs, he, uh, told me you weren't... staying at his place anymore, and I... I just wanted to, uh, see how you were doing?" He kicks himself mentally for sounding so stupid, trying desperately to keep his eyes away from the scar on her arm. Ziva closes her eyes just long enough for anyone else to see it as a prolonged blink, but he can see her struggling with something internally. "Ziva, are you okay? What was that breaking sound when I knocked?"

Her eyes flick to his, and he's surprised at how dark they are. "You... surprised me. I was not expecting anyone to drop by and I dropped a glass," she tells him a little sharply, not meeting his eyes. She goes to close the door, but his heart can't let her go that easily and his foot stops the door from moving.

"I deserve that. You have every right to still be angry with me." Something resembling guilt flashes in her features, but it's gone before he can really see it. "But I... I just... I just want to know that you're okay. Really." He's rambling now, and he wants to punch himself for how awkward he must be making her feel. His foot slips back from where it is against the door and he sighs. "I'm sorry. I just... sorry. For everything."

She swallows, her fingers gripping the door. She finally meets his eyes, and for the briefest moment, she's vulnerable and all he can see is the hurt haunting her. That's the look on her face- she looks haunted, like there are demons hiding under her bed or in her closet. She opens her mouth slightly as if she's going to speak, and then closes it, the wall going back up as she does so. She shakes her head a little, but he can't tell if it's at him or herself. There's a brief moment where she looks unsure, and then she meets his eyes, determination coloring her expression.

"I really am fine, Tony, and if I wasn't, you probably wouldn't be the first person I tell," she says with strength, stinging him with her words and giving him a forced smile and then closing the door in his face. Through the silence that follows, he hears her let out a heavy breath and wants to knock back on the door, beg her to talk to him and let them work this out so he can help her. He knows he shouldn't push her, though, because it will only make things worse.

He stands there for the longest moment, trying to stop the stinging sensation in his eyes and the tugging in his chest. He hears Gibbs telling him that "she might need some time", and so he walks slowly away from her door and back to his car, hands in his pockets.

He feels tired and wants nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep when he gets back to his apartment, but he knows he won't be able to sleep well again until he knows that Ziva really is fine and not just living behind a lot of false assurances.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so I'm going to try to get back into publishing the rest of this story (I'm not finished writing it yet though). I've got a decent idea of how the rest will go in my head and I feel like maybe I can actually finish it now. Plus, I promised. Stick with me- I'll get it done :) **

_"Ziva. Ziva!" _

_She hears him screaming her name and she looks around for him, but she doesn't see him anywhere. His voice is lost in the darkness that surrounds her, and no matter how much she looks for even the faintest outline in front of her, she can't see a single thing. _

_"I'm sorry, Ziva" reaches her ears, and then somehow she can see through the darkness. There's a light coming from somewhere and she sees Tony sitting in front of her in a chair, bound by ropes. There's a cut on his lip and he's looking at her with the strangest expression, a perfect mixture of relief and terror. Saleem is standing just behind him, his hands holding a knife that she knows is sharp enough to slice through anything that he needs it to. _

_"No," she says, but her voice doesn't carry. Her own ears don't even pick up the barely audible sound that leaves her lips. Sand swirls in the air and she can see very well now despite the fact that it was dark only a few moments ago. "No," she tries to speak again, but once again, the sound goes nowhere. _

_"What do you think I should do with him, Ziva?" Saleem asks with that devious grin on his face that she wishes she could grind off skin cell by skin cell. Panic makes her heart start racing and her palms are sweaty. "I have a few ideas. What about you?" _

_Ziva swallows, trying to clear a path in her throat for sound to escape, but now, her lips won't even move. She can't feel anything at all and she can't open her mouth to speak no matter how hard she tries. It's as if her lips are sewn shut by some force outside of her control. Her throat closes up so tight she can barely breathe and all she can do is look at the man in front of her and watch in horror as Saleem slides the knife across his cheek. Despite the fact that the wound must hurt, Tony doesn't make a single sound of pain. _

_"Ziva." He says her name, and his tone is so strained that her heart yearns to reach out and touch him, pull him away from the torture that she's had to endure. He doesn't deserve that. No matter how much he hurt her or what's happened between them, he doesn't deserve to go through what she's went through. _

_She still can't find her voice and now, she can't move a single limb. She's tied down, too, struggling against ropes holding her to a chair. it's getting harder for her to breathe. The air is getting caught in her throat before it can reach her lungs. Her chest keeps getting tighter and tighter as the seconds pass. _

_Saleem grins and then places the knife at Tony's throat, the knife slowly starting to pierce the skin there as Saleem moves it across his neck. _

"No!" Ziva sits straight up in her bed, which is damp with her sweat. She's breathing quickly, inhaling as if she hasn't breathed in years. She tries to move her hands to get the blankets on her body off of her, but they won't cooperate. She kicks frantically at the sheets until her legs are free. Then, she pulls them up to her chest and slowly starts to move her hands, which are shaking unceasingly.

She wraps her arms around her legs, but they slip against her slick skin. "Oh," she gasps out, and then hot tears are rolling down her cheeks because all she can see is Tony's face as Saleem slits his throat and kills him. A sob escapes her and then another, her body convulsing with the terrible sounds.

_"Ziva."_

She puts her hands over her ears and tries to block out the sound of him saying her name, but it echoes in her mind relentlessly. "No," she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hands ever harder against her ears. "_No_."

_"I'm sorry, Ziva."_

She shakes her head at the echo in her mind, tears continuing to fall. Her eyes are pressed together so tightly that she's seeing stars scattered in the blackness. It's just enough to keep the image of Tony dying at bay for the time being.

Eventually, the sound of Tony's voice fades and she can keep that horrifying picture out of her mind. She moves her hands from where they are and opens her eyes slowly. She feels sticky and the sheets beneath her are soaked through with sweat. She takes a glance at her clock and sees that it's just a little after three. Sighing, she gets out of the bed and strips it, tossing the sheets and pillow cases into the washing machine. The comforter won't fit into the load, but she leaves it to the side to wash it next. Then, she heads back to her room and takes off the tank top that's sticking to her body. A car horn goes off on the street outside, startling her. She inches toward the window and glances through the blinds, looking at the dimly lit road. Someone walks by and she backs up from the window, for some reason afraid of being seen. A second later, she's berating herself for being stupid.

She gets a washcloth out of her bathroom and wets it with cold water, wiping her forehead, arms, legs, chest, and stomach. She takes extra care when she gets to her abdomen, pressing lightly against one of the freshest wounds she has. It's a dark purple bruise that she got as a result of one of the men kicking her because she wasn't responding the way he wanted her to. That had been one day before they'd covered her head and taken her into another room, only to reveal that Tony and McGee were both there, bloodied and dirty.

She puts the cloth to the side and leans back against the wall. The extreme quiet makes her nervous and she casts a glance into the hallway, watching for something even though she knows there isn't anything there. She looks into the mirror, her eyes finding all the cuts, bruises, and scars. She lets her finger trace over the scar that a dirty fingernail had made just above her right breast. It's small, but the scar sticks up a little on her skin.

She knows trying to go back to sleep would be pointless, so she throws on another tank top and walks aimlessly around her apartment, only keeping Tony's face out of her mind for a brief period of time. She stands at her door and remembers him standing before her, asking her if she was okay and desperately apologizing.

But she'd told him she was fine and slammed the door in his face.

She puts her hand on the smooth wood of the door, fighting against the guilt threatening to drown her. She shouldn't have snapped at him like that. She shouldn't have been so cold to him. She wishes she could tell him that she forgives him, and that she forgave him after less than two months in a camp in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

If that was all there was to fix, they would be fine. But she knows that there's more. She may have forgiven him, but she knows they won't be able to be okay again until she forgives herself, until she can come to terms with everything and let him back in knowing that she won't hurt him or burden him with the weight she carries now.

And she can't do that. She isn't sure if she'll ever be able to.

"I'll just have a coffee for me and a milkshake for him."

Ziva nods at the woman sitting at one of her booths and heads back to the kitchen to put their order down. For a moment, she lets herself lean against the counter, and her hand brushes against something cool. She turns to see what it is, only to see that it's a kitchen knife.

_"I am testing a theory, Ziva," Saleem tells her, holding a medium sized kitchen knife in his hand. "I am wondering if a regular, standardized knife used for cooking or eating can deliver damage like an army knife or switchblade can." He pauses, raising an eyebrow at her. "What do you think?" _

_She doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. She's too drained to do anything, fight or otherwise. It uses energy that she doesn't have in her anymore. Part of her wishes she still had enough in her to at least snap back at him or offer a smart remark, but she can't find it in her. _

_And as it turns out, kitchen knives can do basically the same amount of damage, but not as efficiently. It takes a lot more pressure and effort. _

"Hey!"

She snaps out of her memory, blinking a few times at the knife and then looking up to see that the coffee and milkshake her customers ordered are ready. She stares for a minute, her heart beating madly inside her chest.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," she stammers out, grabbing both of them and taking a deep breath before walking back out into the diner. "Here you go." She smiles at them, thankful that they aren't paying enough attention to see that it's fake.

"Got another one at one of your tables," one of the older waitresses tells her, and she nods, turning to see that a man is, in fact, sitting at one of her tables.

He's probably in his early forties, with a rough beard and a tan skin tone, When he meets her eyes, he grins at her and her breath catches in her throat. She swallows a little, the action taking more effort than it should have.

She recollects herself well enough to walk up to him and ask him what he wants to drink, but he grins at her again and she feels her skin crawl.

"What do you have?" he asks, and the undertone to his voice turns her stomach.

_"She has potential," _she hears echo in her mind. That was what one of Saleem's men had said when they'd first captured her. The same man had been one of the most enthusiastic in the games they liked to play with her. He had almost disgusted her more than Saleem.

"The menu has the drink list on it," she says stiffly, trying not to lose it.

Some of the glint goes out of the man's eyes and she's grateful for it. "I guess I'll take a Coke."

Ziva nods at him, turning on her heel and heading to the drinks in the kitchen. She starts mechanically filling a glass with ice, trying to keep her mind focused on the steady falling instead of the memories attempting to resurface.

"You look relatively irked."

One of the cooks is raising an eyebrow at her, and she finds herself talking before she can register doing so. "That guy out there was flirting with me."

"Ah, that's just part of the job!" the cook tells her with a small laugh.

Ziva closes her eyes, trying to will away the tears forming. She wants to tell him that it's different for her, that she can't see a man grinning at her without seeing the men that tortured and played with her for days upon days. She can't do that, though, so she just puts on a smile and takes the man his drink.

But when he insinuates that she's part of what can be ordered off of the menu and winks at her, his grin nearly reaching his ears, she can't will away the images and she storms out of the diner, tears slipping down her cheeks. She hears those men laughing and calling her names, telling her exactly what they think of her, and it breaks her, pulls her down lower into the pit that threatens to overtake her more times than she can comprehend.

"Ziva?"

She doesn't believe what she's hearing, but when she looks up, Tony is standing there.

More tears fall from her eyes and she can't stop them no matter how hard she tries. She feels his hand catch her wrist, his thumb brushing against the skin on the inside of it. For the briefest moment, she wonders if letting herself fall into his arms will help, and she almost does, but then the guilt rushes back and she pushes away from him.

She looks into his face and she sees her nightmare staring back at her, but a blink later it's gone, and all that she can see is Tony watching her with a concern on his face that she doesn't deserve. She takes a step back and bumps into someone, which causes her to flinch, unable to even get an apology past her lips.

She looks back at Tony and he takes a step toward her, but she can't let him do that. She can't let anybody do that, especially him.

So she turns and runs until she can't run anymore, but she'll never run fast enough to escape the demons on her heels. No matter how hard or fast she runs, they're always right behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**yes, finally. **

* * *

When Ziva had taken off running after seeing him at the diner, everything in Tony had yelled at him to follow her. He'd wanted to, but by the time he let himself over analyze the outcome of that decision, she was gone. He thought about trying to go by her apartment and talk to her, but in all honesty, he couldn't muster up the courage. Seeing her like that had absolutely terrified him.

He hates that he keeps seeing her like that in his mind. No matter how hard he tries to push the images away, they're stuck strong, imprinted into his brain. He doesn't want to see Ziva so scared like that. The Ziva he's known for so long wasn't afraid of anything and it petrifies him to think that maybe she isn't his Ziva anymore. He shouldn't think like that, though, and he knows it. His Ziva is still in there, somewhere. She's a little broken and lost, fighting against something that wants to break her, but she's there. She has to be.

His curiosity gets the best of him and he finds himself wondering what exactly it was that made her so terrified, and when he happens to bring it up to one of the people who saw everything, they say that a customer was hitting on her and she just freaked.

"She was kind of acting nervous all night," the man in question tells him seriously. "I'm not sure what was wrong with her, but there was something bothering her pretty bad."

He knows that it has to be linked to the summer she spent in Somalia, and the fact that Ziva is apparently struggling with the aftermath of what happened to her irks him to the point that he can't focus on anything. It drives him crazy and makes him wish he had some superpower that could help her, erase all of the bad memories and get her back to herself.

He isn't sure how he's going to, but he spends all night awake because he can't think of anything else. He doesn't know how, but he knows he has to help her. He can't just sit back and watch her lose even more of herself in the terror of the memories haunting her.

The following morning, he's still turning information over in his mind despite his exhaustion when Gibbs comes in with a case. It's a good one, complicated enough to keep them busy for an extended period of time. When he happens to nearly fall asleep propped up on his hand while McGee is giving them information on a suspect's mysterious wife, Gibbs pops him on the back of the head and the unexpected action combined with how tired he is results in his forehead hitting his desk.

"Ow," he complains halfheartedly, a yawn escaping him as he rubs his hand over the now sore area.

"Did you get any sleep last night, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks then, and Tony feels obligated to be honest with him.

"Not much, not really, no."

Gibbs gives him a look that he can't really describe but then just asks him to get more coffee and try to pay attention. His tone is very unlike the tone they're all used to, and while McGee gives Gibbs a strange look, Tony just nods and leaves to do so. Tony can feel McGee's eyes on him, but he doesn't take the initiative to look back and see what expression McGee is wearing now. He figures it won't make him feel any better, so there isn't really a point.

"DiNozzo, you gotta focus," Gibbs tells him later as he flips the switch in the elevator on the way to Abby's lab.

Tony sighs, looking down at the ground and putting his hands in his pockets. "I'm trying," is the only response he can offer the man standing next to him. He hesitates, giving Gibbs a side glance before returning his gaze to the floor. "I'm worried about Ziva."

"I know," Gibbs replies simply without any pause in conversation.

Tony swallows, pressing his lips together to attempt holding himself together. "Do you think she can stay mad at me forever?"

"I think," Gibbs begins, flipping the emergency switch back to put the elevator in motion. "That she has more on her plate to worry about right now than being pissed at you, DiNozzo." The elevator dings open and Gibbs steps out, only to turn back to him again. "And I think that the person you might need to talk to is down in autopsy."

Knowing that Gibbs is right, Tony heads down to Ducky in the first free minute that he can find. He waits patiently while Ducky finishes an opening monologue of sorts, and is relieved when Ducky finally turns to him.

"Did you need something, Anthony?" he asks, as if he's just realized that Tony walked down without any need for case related information.

"Yeah, I wanted to... I had some questions for you," Tony replies, feeling a little nervous.

"Concerning what?" Ducky questions in return, raising an eyebrow. He puts down a tool that he was holding in his hands, giving Tony his now undivided attention.

"Well... I'm worried that... I think Ziva might be having a... a tough time with... everything." It takes a few attempts to get the words past his lips, and he can't figure out why his nerves are acting up in such a way other than the fact that it has to do with Ziva. But at the same time, Ziva is the reason that he's down there and it's seeing her face in his mind that forces himself to stay composed and accomplish what he came down to autopsy to do. He goes to add on to his statement in order to try making himself more clear, but then Ducky's expression softens exponentially.

"I had a feeling she was not doing very well either," he says, looking off to the side at nothing in particular, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "Have you see her recently?"

"I saw her last night at her new job," Tony tells him, and the words sound strange to him. Shrugging a little, he sits down in the extra chair by Ducky's desk, twining his fingers together in his lap. He stares at his hands hard, as if trying to find his answers there. "I was just stopping by because I was curious. I... was already a little worried about her and... I just wanted to check on her. When I got there she was running out. She looked absolutely terrified, and when she looked at me... it was like she wasn't really seeing me."

"Did you say anything to her?" Ducky asks inquisitively.

"I didn't really get a chance. She, uh, ran off before I could. I thought about following her but..." He stops, not really wishing to finish the statement. "When I asked someone there about it, they said she had been acting pretty nervous all evening. She seemed kind of anxious on the plane back, too, but I didn't think anything of it because... I mean we'd just pulled her out of the Sahara Desert. I figured it was normal to be a little shaken."

"Yes, well Jethro came to me a few days ago acting very concerned for Ziva as well. He believes that while she was staying with him, she had a nightmare of sorts. He heard her wake up in the middle of the night and she was very disoriented when he tried to speak to her afterwards. It is very likely that the nightmares were related to her time spent in Somalia." Ducky seems to be showing his age all of a sudden and his gaze is very serious.

"Nightmares?" Tony says to himself quietly, feeling his heart break for her. "And all those things that I just shrugged off on the plane because I figured either she was still upset with me or she was just tired... does that have to do with it, too?"

Ducky nods slowly, sitting down in his chair with a somber expression on his face. "It would seem that Ziva has quite a strong case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In order for an individual to be diagnosed with PTSD, doctors usually look for at least one re-experiencing symptom, such as flashbacks or nightmares, accompanied by avoidance symptoms that can range from simply feeling guilty to having trouble remembering the event. There is also usually some hyperarousal symptoms involved."

Tony furrows his brow and looks up. "Hyperarousal?"

"Yes," Ducky begins, and Tony can see him recalling nearly everything he can on the subject even as words start to leave his mouth. If the conversation weren't so severely sobering, Tony would take a moment to admire that about his coworker. But this isn't the time for that. "That would include feeling nervous, having angry outbursts, experiencing difficulty sleeping, being easily startled... And while re-experiencing symptoms and avoidance symptoms are often triggered, hyperarousal symptoms are constant. They do not have to be triggered by a place, person, object, etcetera."

Tony nods slowly, trying to process the information, recalling how Ziva had been jumpy every time he'd seen her, how she'd snapped at him when he stopped by. "That sounds about right." There's a long silence as Tony's brain tries to catch up to what he just heard. "She has PTSD."

The statement sounds so out of place to him, and the words have trouble forming because it isn't fair for Ziva to have PTSD. Why should she have to relive the terrible things that happened to her? Why should she go through every day feeling nervous and guilty? His stomach turns at just the thought of it. "Okay, so... how do I help her?"

Ducky gives him a sympathetic look and it takes a lot of effort for Tony not to lose his patience. He's really getting sick of receiving sympathy when he isn't the one who it should be directed towards. "I'm afraid that you yourself can't do much," Ducky tells him slowly. "She needs to be seen by a medical facility that can cater to individuals with PTSD symptoms. Only they can administer treatment or medication to truly help her."

"What treatment?" Tony asks, wishing he knew more about this. It would make things a lot easier.

"Well, psychotherapy, or getting the patient to talk openly about their experiences to rise above them, is one common method used. Every case is different, however. Some people may respond better to exposure therapy, where they are faced with the thing haunting them in a safe environment so that they can better overcome it. Others may need cognitive restructuring to help them make sense of the event or situation that is bothering them. But all of this is best done with therapists who are well aware of how to deal with what they are going through and get them out of it better." Ducky fixes him with a stern gaze. "I'm sorry, Anthony, but the most you, or anyone for that matter, can do is... ease her in that direction, urge her to see someone and get some help. Until she wants to get the help, there isn't much that can be done."

Tony nods, the weight of everything making his shoulders sag forward. "She... she won't really talk to me. But maybe I can... talk to Gibbs. I can see if maybe she'll listen to him. I have to get her help." His head is beginning to hurt and he rubs a hand over his forehead.

He knows that if he looks up at Ducky, all he'll see is another sympathetic expression, so he simply ducks his head and walks out, coming up with a plan A, B, C, and more in his head, because if it's the last thing he ever sees to, he's going to see to it that Ziva gets better.


End file.
